


Enough

by Imjustonegal66



Category: Original Work
Genre: Dark Thoughts, Gender Dysphoria, It’s starting to be painful, Other, Please don’t read if you have mental triggers, Venting and hurt, tw for depression, tw for dysphoria
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:21:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23898928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imjustonegal66/pseuds/Imjustonegal66
Summary: Will it ever be enough? Can I be who I should’ve been?
Relationships: None





	Enough

**Author's Note:**

> At this point, I’m so far unattached to my body that I want to shut down. I have a lot of hesitations about posting this, but it needs out in some form.

This point I always find myself at. The endless torture of waiting for my hair to grow longer, the not so subtle hints to my parents who don’t want to accept it.

The hair on my face grows back within the hour. I hate it. The pain in my chest when I look at it. It makes me want to rip out the follicles from each bit, rip out the skin and pluck them out bit by bit.

I hate the judgment. The silent apprehension whenever I mention it to my friends. The only one I consider a sister goes through enough. I don’t want to burden her.

Whenever I look at myself, I note the too wide jaw, the tiny, puckered mouth where my teeth don’t fit. The stubble on my neck which I beg whichever deity to remove.

I feel like I’ve been through them all at this point. Lying awake, cursing the reality I’m stuck in, so I curse the gods. I think, if I don’t look, it’s not there, if I don’t feel, it’s not there.

I ignored the signs for six years. I ignored the sinking, sick feeling in my gut whenever I heard the words ‘boy’, or ‘young man’ or ‘he’. I got in trouble once in infant school for refusing to move from the girl line, insisting I was a girl.

When a guy in my year had longer hair, I wanted it. When the other kid wore shorts all year long, I wanted it. I thought of shorts as boy skirts. I felt comfortable with them on.

Then, when it hit, the hair grew everywhere. Like a plague, it spread across my body, noting my arms, my legs, that. I can’t even think of that without shuddering, curling into a ball.

I feel like I moan endlessly, like I’m not going to be enough to transition when I talk to the doctor about it. Then there’s the animosity towards us. It feels like every day there’s more news of people like me dying because of who we are. Nine in the past three months, and all hate deaths. It kills me to see, and I want desperately for it to stop.

I got used to keeping my keys in between my fingers when I started walking home, assessing before I even walked in the door. I felt like everyone was hostile, and I was prey. It suffocates me to this day.

I just want to be what my brain says I am, isn’t that enough? I feel like I’m whining when there are worse things going on, there are people dying and here I am, whinging and moaning. It doesn’t do anyone good, but here I am.

My thoughts are jumbled, the lack of sleep getting to my brain. The white marks on my arms itch again, thin, but long, criss crossed down my forearm. I tap my foot as the warmth of the night makes me sweat.

The warmth, don’t get me started on the warmth. The summer months, wearing hoodies and jeans while I boil alive, sure I would overheat or faint. The winter months, cold and shivery, wishing I had more layers yet also wanting to show off at least some femininity.

I feel as if my femininity derails the gender roles of our society, torn between the ideology of ‘fuck gender roles’ and ‘I want to wear cute clothes and dress up feminine’. The aspects of masculinity and femininity blur sometimes, and I want a clearer line.

My voice. Only recently do I have a proper girl voice. I take great pride in it, but I drop around family. I adjust my singing voice, the falsetto too pitchy! I’m irritated by the too deep sound as I imitate Ben Platt in the female keys. I try imitating AmaLee and Avril Lavigne to my best attempts.

I’m exhausted. At this point, I’d sell my soul for the correct body. Not as if I have much of one anyway, am I right?

Anyway, it’s super tiring getting it out, and I’m fucked out of my mind, so until next time, that’s all folks.


End file.
